


Only to You

by ObliObla



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But she probably should, Chloe doesn't know, Dancing, F/M, Fighting Kink, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Lucifer isn't subtle at all, Scars, Season/Series 02, Smut, or thereabouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 17:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: Some would-be blackmailers send Lucifer what they believe to be an embarrassingly incriminating video, demanding millions of dollars lest they release it to the world; he posts it to his Wobble.





	Only to You

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by 'So You Think You Can Dance?' and Tom Ellis and Aimee Garcia dancing on the set. It went some... interesting places after that. Hope you like it!

Chloe arrived, as usual, twenty minutes early to work. The precinct appeared nearly deserted; the front desk was staffed and a few night shift guys were on their way out, but the bullpen was completely empty. She had seen Ella’s car in the parking lot, so she headed to the lab; hopefully the DNA results for their latest case would be in today.

The shutters on the lab windows were closed and there was a strange rustling noise coming from the room; Chloe opened the door and nearly ran into a narcotics detective she vaguely recognized. He barely noticed; his focus, and the focus of what appeared to be half the people who worked at the station, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the small room, was on Ella’s largest monitor.

She pressed play on a video, nearly falling into Dan—standing next to her, smirking—in her excitement.

The video had clearly been taken on a phone; it showed Lux’s penthouse, piano pushed into a corner, its dark floors glinting in the rich violet light that shined down on it. Two figures danced, delicately but intricately in a style Chloe recognized from a show Maze watched as contemporary, while a bass-heavy modern-sounding song she hadn’t heard before reverberated through the space.

One figure was lithe, bald-headed, dressed in a sleek dark purple suit, light gleaming off their ebony skin; they were leading their much taller partner through a series of complex spins and turns when they both stopped, transitioning to slow slides and steps. The taller partner turned toward the camera and Chloe got a good look: it was Lucifer, artistically wrapped in silky fabric that composed a form-fitting dress; its color matched his partner’s suit.

As she marveled at the curls in his hair and the way his makeup softened his clean-shaven face—she’d never seen him without his perpetual scruff—his partner approached him, unfastened the bolt of fabric at his shoulder, and began to dance around him, slowly unraveling it.

There was a short jeer of laughter, but a hush fell over the room as the dancers moved with graceful sensuality; it was like someone had mixed a tango with the aerial silk acrobatics Chloe had seen once at Cirque du Soleil. The pull and push of fabric as more skin was revealed enraptured the room; she had never seen him move like that, turning smoothly on the balls of his feet, wrapping his partner in cast off fabric, lifting them easily before sliding them both to the floor, rolling back to his feet. The fabric slipped to his hips…

The video cut off abruptly; a disappointed groan echoed through the room.

“What’s all this then?” Lucifer asked, brightly; he was suddenly standing right behind her, in the threshold, a broad grin on his face. He slipped elegantly into the room, “I see you got my message Miss Lopez, brilliant!”

The crowd began to disperse, most of the men shuffling past Lucifer awkwardly, faces flushed, avoiding eye contact, everyone else giggling helplessly; as they left the lab they shook their heads, blinked unsteadily, then returned to whatever they were supposed to be doing. Chloe closed the door behind them, rolling her eyes.

Dan was still standing by the computer; he seemed to be having a mild identity crisis. Ella beamed, bouncing on her heels, “That was awesome, Luce! Hey, can you teach me how to do that?”

Lucifer strolled over to her, “Which part?”

“The bit where you picked your partner up when you were spinning around, and they let themselves sort of fall to the ground, but all fancy!”

He glanced around the lab, “I don’t think there’s enough room here; why don’t you stop by Lux after you’re done here?”

“Awesome!”

Chloe walked up to Ella’s computer; the video was part of a Wobble post, made from Lucifer’s account. It was captioned: _some useless wankers tried to blackmail me with this, but I think I look quite lovely; don’t you concur?_ Judging from the several thousand likes and a somewhat concerning number of rather explicit comments, his followers seemed to agree wholeheartedly.

“Someone tried to blackmail you?”

Lucifer sighed dramatically, extracting himself from a grateful Ella hug, “Indeed. They apparently believed that this video would ruin my reputation; why they thought that,” he shrugged, “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Maybe it was about your partner?” Dan’s voice sounded strained, but he was making eye contact again.

“Amahle? They’re the best contemporary dancer in the city, they performed _this_ routine for six months at the Terpsichore Theatre and,” he sniffed, “I believe I danced adequately enough to not be considered an _embarrassment_.” Lucifer had the I’m-beginning-a-dramatic-rant-about-the-inadequacies-of-others tone that Chloe recognized from years spent going to auditions with her mother.

She headed him off, “I’m sure they were just… mistaken, but if you wouldn’t mind forwarding me the message you were sent; I’ll see if we can track them down so they don’t try to blackmail anyone else.”

Lucifer sighed, again, “Fine… now, unless there are any bad guys for me to punish, I need to practice that routine. I only did dance it once, after all.” He wandered back to the door, “Oh, and you’re all invited if you’d like,” his grin turned filthy, “I saw how much you enjoyed it,” he disappeared out the door.

They blinked in tandem; Ella shook her head, “Wait, did he just say he only did that routine once? I… how?”

Chloe shrugged; this was far from the most inexplicable thing she had seen him do.

Dan half ran out of the lab, heading, it appeared, for the gym.

*   *   *

Chloe and Ella arrived in the parking garage at the same time; they approached the elevator. Dan was standing uncomfortably against the wall, staring at the button; he appeared to be trying to work up the courage to hit it. Ella took pity on him, calling the elevator down; they got in together.

The doors opened, revealing a cleared out penthouse—as they saw in the video—and a half naked Lucifer. “Oh good, you made it,” he tossed some clothes at them as they emerged, awkwardly, from the elevator. “Personally, I prefer to dance in the nude, but,” he shrugged, turning away; they followed the line of his spine as his shoulder blades rolled, “concessions must be made, I suppose.”

“Uh…” Dan frowned at the clothing in his hands, “is there anywhere more… private?”

He flinched as Lucifer turned back to him, “Well, you could go to the guest bedrooms,” he gestured to the hallway, “but there are no doors here.” He turned to the bar, getting himself a drink; they headed in the direction he’d pointed.

“Did you guys…” Ella made a grabbing motion at her back before going into the nearest room.

“You mean the fuck-off big scars on his back that he refuses to talk about?” Dan picked a room at random, found a corner and started changing.

“And doesn’t want anyone to touch?” Chloe had also chosen a room.

Dan made a noise halfway between a scoff and an impressed whistle, “When did that happen?”

“You remember the pick-up artists? There was a sting at Lux?”

“Kind of…” Ella made a confused noise, “that was before you moved here.”

“Right,” they met in the hallway; their clothes fit perfectly, “well, a couple days before that he… sort of… walked in on me naked and then got it in his head that it would only be fair for me to see him naked too so when I showed up before the sting he wasn’t wearing any clothes,” she said, in one breath.

They were back in the main room, now; Lucifer was leaning on the bar sipping scotch. When he saw them, he hit a button on a small remote; some unobtrusive but pleasant music started playing.

“Hey, um… aren’t these floors kind of… hard?” Ella tapped her bare foot against the stone.

“I won’t let you fall,” it didn’t sound like a promise; it sounded like a statement of fact.

“Ooo…kay…”

Dan looked like he was reconsidering again.

Lucifer clapped his hands together, “Well, Miss Lopez, since you suggested this, would you like to go first?”

“Uh… sure,” she stepped up to him.

“As it was a rather demanding routine, I’ve simplified it somewhat; so: I’m going to begin with several turns,” he demonstrated the move, extending his arms and one leg as he rotated on the ball of his foot, “I’ll hold your hand and you’ll follow me around; I’ll pull you in,” he took her hand, “put my other hand here,” he laid it gently on her waist, “then pick you up. Shall we start with that?”

“Sure!” Ella’s enthusiasm had returned.

He began to spin slowly; Ella took his hand, following him around with quick, sure sidesteps. “I see you’ve had dance training,” he spun slightly faster.

“Just a couple years as a kid; thanks, by the way. It’s so cool of you for doing this.”

“Of course,” he started pulling her in, little-by-little, “I’ll lift you up, then set you horizontally on my shoulders; one of my arms will support your legs, the other will go under your arm. Ready?”

She nodded; he took her by the waist and lifted, transitioning from pirouettes to smooth step turns. He raised her above his head, then lowered her to his shoulders, arms sliding carefully. “Awesome!” Ella giggled.

Lucifer smiled at Chloe and Dan as he faced them for a moment, before continuing to turn, “Are you ready to come down now, my dear?”

Ella pouted good-naturedly, “I guess.”

“Alright, then; I’ll extend my arms upward, then slowly pull you down, around me. Are you up for the floor work?”

“Absolutely, dude; that’s the part I was really looking forward to.”

“Then I presume you know what to do?”

“Yep!”

Lucifer straightened his arms, holding Ella steadily above his head for a few moments as he continued spinning, then, using her weight as momentum, began pirouetting again as he slid her around and down his body. When she reached his waist she pulled away from him, slightly; he returned to quick steps as they held hands and he spun her around him, leading her down. He knelt carefully, finished a final spin on his knees, and let Ella slide a few inches across the floor.

He stood quickly, helping her up. “That was amazing!” she pulled him into an enthusiastic hug.

“You’re very welcome, Miss Lopez,” he muttered into her hair; she released him, rejoining Dan and Chloe.

Dan frowned, “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to do this. I haven’t danced since…” his eyes darted to Chloe for a moment.

“Don’t worry too much, Daniel, I reworked the routine to be quite simple for the partner, and I’ll guide you through it,” he extended a hand; Dan blanched. Lucifer blinked, “Well, since you’ve no dance training, I cannot permit you to attempt lifts, especially on this floor which, as Miss Lopez noted, is quite hard. But,” he looked rather perturbed, “did you not want to dance with me?”

Dan looked at the floor, biting his lip, “I… uh…?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “I see. Some of you humans have the most annoyingly archaic views on gender and presentation and… _propriety_ ,” he sniffed; realization dawned on his face, “Ah… that’s why my would-be blackmailers thought I would give them money.” He chuckled, “Poor narrow-minded fools.”

“I do want to,” Dan looked as surprised as anyone else at the words that left his mouth. Chloe was staring at him, bewildered.

Ella smiled, clapping her hand on his shoulder, “Go Dan! It’s super fun; I know you’ll enjoy it.”

Dan took a few awkward steps forward; he turned, glancing at Chloe as if asking for permission. Her eyebrows rose, amazed, as he turned back to Lucifer, stopping a few steps in front of him. “So, um…” he flushed, “probably no lifts then?” he sounded disappointed. Chloe and Ella shared a bemused look.

“And why not?”

“Well, you… you can’t pick me up like you did Ella?”

Lucifer smirked, “Would you like a demonstration?” He approached Dan, grabbing him by the waist surely, but slowly enough that Dan could have stepped back, and lifted him straight up, a foot in the air. He did not appear to be struggling.

Ella gasped; Dan’s eyes flickered between his own dangling toes and Lucifer’s not particularly strained arms. Chloe, who had seen him toss larger men than Dan across a room with one hand, simply shoved the image into her mental box of things-Lucifer-did-that-she-couldn’t-explain. It was getting rather crowded in there.

Lucifer sat Dan back onto his feet, “So, what would you like to do?”

“Um… there’s a bit at the end where you picked hi… _them_ up from behind,” he stared at the floor, “and you both sort of ended up lying on the ground and you… lifted them back up?”

Lucifer thought, head tilted, “Yes, I believe I can manage that,” he gestured at Dan, “may I?”

Dan turned around, trying to avoid eye contact with Chloe, who was now blushing in sympathy. Lucifer seized him by the hips and lifted him, gracefully.

“Now,” Lucifer began conversationally, as if he wasn’t holding a reasonably solidly built man several feet off the ground, “it’s going to feel like you’re falling, but as long as you don’t panic and start swinging your arms around, you’ll be perfectly safe.” Dan shivered; Lucifer frowned, “You don’t have to do this, Daniel.”

“I know,” Dan swallowed heavily, “but I’d like to. I’m just nervous. I haven’t really done this before, especially not with…”

Lucifer pulled Dan closer, lips at his ear, “If it helps, just think of me as your friend, nothing else.” Dan nodded; Lucifer returned to their previous position, “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

To Chloe and Ella, it looked like Lucifer stumbled forward and tripped, but in near slow motion. To Dan, it felt like they were sliding forward, Lucifer taking his weight and guiding his body away from direct impact with the floor even as they both ended up lying on the ground.

He gave Dan a moment’s breath before he felt a rolling movement beside him, strong hands scooping him into the motion until they were both standing again.

Dan laughed, breathlessly; he clapped Lucifer on the back, “Thanks, man; that was awesome!” Lucifer inclined his head. “Oh, hey, you know, Trixie really wanted to learn ballet, but she didn’t like any of the teachers we could fine. Would you mind, maybe, just… I don’t know, showing her a little bit?”

Lucifer shuffled uncomfortably, “Well, I…”

“It would mean a lot to her, you know.”

Lucifer sighed, “I suppose that I could. It would be… an honor to instruct the spa… _child_.”

Dan grinned, “Oh, speaking of Trixie,” he fished his phone out of his pile of clothes, “I’ve got to go relieve the babysitter. I promised enchiladas.”

Ella was looking at her phone too, “Yeah… this was really cool, but I have some paperwork to do before tomorrow. Do you uh… want the clothes back?”

Lucifer waved a magnanimous hand, “Keep them. And,” he smiled, “make sure you bring them back if you want another show. Or don’t, your choice.”

Dan and Ella were laughing as they left the penthouse.

Lucifer turned back to Chloe, “So… alone at last, darling,” his grin turned salacious, “whatever shall we do?”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “You’re not too worn out from Dan and Ella?” she teased, stepping closer.

His smile grew filthier, “Never too tired for you, love. Would you like me to show you?” He swept her into his arms so quickly she was almost lightheaded, but his grip was sure and strong, his hands gentle as he spun them.

“I don’t remember seeing this on that video.”

“You didn’t think those were the only moves in my repertoire, did you?” he let her legs slip carefully from his arms, hanging a few inches from the ground; his hands settled on her hips as he slid to a stop, setting her back on the floor. “Do _you_ … dance?” he was suddenly shy, head tilted down.

“Not like you,” Chloe didn’t even bother trying to hide the awe in her voice, “ballroom, three years; mom insisted.”

“Smart woman,” he looked up, catching her gaze; his eyes were soft and warm.

Chloe’s breath hitched; there suddenly wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. “I…” she cleared her throat, “I don’t really remember anything, though.” If he asked for a demonstration, watching her with those dark eyes, she might just melt into the floor; she grasped for a safer topic, “Where did you learn?”

He frowned, far more baffled by such a simple question than he should be.

She tried to help him out, “Does anyone else in your family dance?”

He chuckled, breaking the strange tension; he shook his head, “The closest my family gets to dancing is fighting. I suppose that’s where it started, really. They’re fairly similar, in some respects.”

“You know how to fight?” she snorted; sure he was strong, freakish strong—the box of inexplicable things rattled in its dark corner, she ignored it—but the kind of fighting that was like dancing? No way.

He glared at her in exasperation, “You have the most arbitrary skepticism. _Yes_ , I know how to fight.”

She bit her lip; she was in potentially dangerous waters, she knew, but, “Show me?”

He sniffed in disbelief, “You’d prefer that to dancing?”

“Well, I’ve seen you dance,” she stepped closer to him, letting him tower over her, “I haven’t seen… that.”

“Fine,” he huffed out a breath, but leaned into her unconsciously. She took a few steps back, widening her stance. He blinked at her, “What are you doing?”

She rolled her eyes, “You know what I’m doing.”

“I… I’m not,” he sputtered, “I’m not fighting you!”

“Why not?”

“Because, you’re a—”

“A girl?” there was an edge to her voice now; too many men had said the same.

“That is _not_ what I was going to say.”

Chloe had heard that before too, but Lucifer didn’t lie—he even sounded somewhat offended by the implication—so she dropped it. “Look, I originally suggested it because I thought it might be fun but, honestly? We end up in so many dangerous situations at work that knowing more about your skills might be a good idea. Though, maybe we should go to the station; Ella was right,” she tapped her foot on the ground, “the floor is way too hard for this.”

He stared at her like he was trying to work some complicated math problem in his head; he found his answer, nodding idly, then turned to the elevator, “Follow me.”

He took them, in silence, to the floor below. Chloe had never been to this floor; she’d assumed it was storage or maybe some part of Lucifer’s business she’d rather not know about. Instead they found themselves in a narrow hallway, rather less glamorous than any part of Lux she’d seen; there were more than a dozen identical doors, each with a blinking keypad.

He gave her an awkward glance as he led her down the hallway, “I don’t like doors, but it’s better than finding people in here.” He stopped at the fourth on the right, disengaged the keypad—she hadn’t heard him type any numbers, but he must have—and pushed the door open, gesturing for her to enter.

It was a… dojo was the best word for it: the walls and floor were softly padded; there were large cabinets along one wall and a door that presumably led to the showers. Lucifer swept past her, opened one of the cabinets and pulled out some hand wraps, “I don’t have much in the way of protective gear, but,” he handed them to her, “these should be helpful.”

Chloe started to put them on, “What about you?” she carefully secured her thumb.

“I’ll be fine,” he took off his ring, setting it on a bench.

“Lucifer.”

“ _Detective_.”

“Fine,” Chloe huffed, flexing her fingers to make sure the wraps had enough give, “you’re an adult, marginally; just don’t come crying to me if you break a finger.”

“I shan’t; now, I believe you’re ready,” he moved a few paces away from her, “unless you’d like a weapon?”

She pretended to consider it, “What do you have?”

He moved to another cabinet, pulling the door open so she could see inside; bo staffs, fencing swords, daggers of various sizes, shapes and compositions, a few whips that looked like they’d be more at home as sex toys, and a large, wicked-looking morning star. She noted that, aside from the morning star—which he probably owned solely for the pun—these weapons were designed for speed and precision. He interrupted her train of thought, spreading his arms, “What’s mine is yours.”

She blinked, “I’m… good, thanks.”

He shrugged, shutting the cabinet; “Suit yourself.” He moved back into position.

She considered him, “Anywhere I should avoid, besides, you know…”

He grimaced, “I’d rather not get hit in the bollocks.”

“Don’t you have a cup?” she’d never known a man who’d consider sparring without one.

“Nope.”

“Right…”

“So,” Lucifer clapped his hands together, “shall we?”

“Wait, I haven’t told you what you should avoid on me.” He averted his gaze; she glared, “Lucifer?”

“Detective?”

“You weren’t planning on trying to hit me, were you?”

He shuffled, head down, “I… thought I would focus on defense, as it were.”

She rolled her eyes, again—she was liable to strain them, the amount of time she was spending in his company—“No hair pulling, no groin shots, no… groping.”

His eyes went a little wide; he blew out a breath, “Not gentlemen, your fellow officers, then?”

She laughed, “Like you don’t fight dirty.” She hadn’t known he could fight, but _that_ was never in question.

“Of course I do, but not against compatriots. Well, except for Maze, but restraint isn’t often in her vocabulary.”

“Hey, so if _you_ can fight, then why does Maze—”

“Because it’s her duty. Besides, being underestimated can be a vital asset. Now, would you like to begin?”

“Sure,” she’d known he had a façade, considering how much it slipped when she was around, but that was certainly a reason for it she hadn’t surmised; he hid his intelligence under layers of smart-ass playboy nonsense, why not this? She pondered how to approach—he was simply standing there, seemingly flat-footed, hands loose at his sides—but, _façade_ , right? She looked closer. There was a sharp line in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before; it was subtle, but distinct. She studied his feet for a moment; his weight was shifted forward, onto the balls of his feet, ever so slightly.

He chuckled, “I know I’m pretty, darling, but why don’t we get on with it?”

“You could do something,” she retorted.

He smiled smugly, “Oh, I’m doing plenty.”

Chloe decided to try a feint; she moved toward him a little and threw a punch that wouldn’t quite hit. He stood still as a statue; he didn’t even blink, just continued grinning infuriatingly at her. So that was his game: annoy his opponent into doing something rash—of course it was; he did it in every other situation, why not fighting? Getting under people’s skin was probably his finest skill. Well, she had tricks of her own.

She fanned her face a little as if she were hot, then wiped at her neck, jostling one of the straps of her tank top just enough to make it look like it might slide off her shoulder; she waited for the flicker of his eyes, following the movement and…

He caught her fist, aimed for his jaw, in a motion too fast to see, swung her around and set her back down; she transitioned into a side kick, snapping at his knee. He sidestepped, pirouetting—there was the dance influence—and pushed her shoulder with two fingers, just hard enough to knock her a little off-balance; by the time she’d recovered, he had slipped too far away to reach.

He smiled, “Your form is quite excellent, love.” Damn him; that should’ve been patronizing, but he seemed entirely genuine.

So, he was as freakish fast as he was strong; clearly, she needed a better tactic. An idea occurred to her; _huh, that might actually work._

She approached him, a little hesitantly as she had before; she darted forward, trying to hit his solar plexus with her palm. He grabbed her wrist, easily, but this time, instead of pulling away, she pushed toward him, unbalancing him enough to get her free hand to his, still clenched around her wrist; she pressed her thumb into the pressure point at the base of his hand. His fingers loosened involuntarily for a moment and she slipped out of his grasp, angling her newly freed hand up to land a palm strike under his arm. At the same time, she hooked her leg around his and shoved her full weight onto him.

“Shit,” he toppled backward; she fell with him, landing on his chest. He grabbed at her arms; they grappled, rolling several times on the mats before his foot found purchase on the floor and he caught her shoulder under his hand, pinning her to the ground.

He was panting slightly although not, she was certain, from exertion; his eyes were nearly black as they bored into hers and… _Jesus,_ she did not think this plan through.

“Yield,” he seemed angry, though not at her, but maybe it was just the intensity of his gaze; he’d never looked at her like that before. No one had ever looked at her like that before. She became acutely aware of his bare chest, pressing against her borrowed tank top.

But she hadn’t gotten to where she was by giving up easily. “No,” she struggled against him; he somehow managed to catch both her wrists in one of his hands, pinning them above her head. His other hand was still braced against her shoulder while his knee held her lower body down; she wasn’t entirely certain how he was holding himself up without crushing her.

“Yield.”

She felt more than heard the word, vibrating through her. “No,” his fingers were iron bars against her wrists, against her collar bone; she braced her feet flat on the floor and shot up, trying to knock him off her. He didn’t budge an inch; all she succeeded in doing was rubbing her pelvis against his leg.

He inhaled sharply; she expected another self-serious ‘ _yield_ ’, but instead, “ _Chloe_ …” her name whined out of his throat. _Oh._ She’d thought he was tense trying to keep her from escaping, but, “ _please_.”

She couldn’t help but tease him, “ _You_ can move; I’m the one that’s pinned.”

He growled, pressing further against her; she could feel him head to toe now, muscles tight, breathing roughly between each word, “ _I… do… not… yield._ ”

“Not even to get what you want?” her breath was labored too; her hands twisted in their confines, not in a bid to escape, but to press her pulse point more firmly against his fingers, hot even through the hand wraps.

“No,” he shivered against her.

She lifted her head up as much as she could, lips against his ear, whispering, “Not even to me?”

He shook with the effort of not moving, not touching, barely restrained; he gritted his teeth, “If you don’t want this, tell me to stop. Now.”

She should have; should’ve got up and gone home, burying the inconvenient feelings in snark and cold, lonely showers like she always did. Should’ve not potentially ruined what they had by reaching for more, but… _he doesn’t lie to me; shouldn’t I repay that courtesy?_

She arched against him, licking her lips, her decision making her bold, “But I do want this. I want you.”

His composure shattered. He ground himself into her, moaning, desperate and unashamed; his hand left her shoulder, trailing upward over her neck, brushing hair gently from her face.

She leaned up against him, kissing and biting at his mouth, panting into him; she felt his fingers loosen around her wrists and she pulled back, “Don’t… you haven’t yielded yet.”

He stared at her, disbelieving, tightening his fingers further than they had been; she moaned, tensing her hands to enjoy the feeling of him around her.

“You… like that?” his other hand slipped from her face and settled, lightly, against her neck.

She keened, “Please…”

He rearranged his legs to more thoroughly grind against her; his fingers twitched around her throat, not pressing, just holding, carefully. He captured her lips, tongue curling against the roof of her mouth. She pulled her legs out from underneath him, wrapping them around his hips, bucking up against him. He broke away from her mouth, groaning, “You taste of sunshine.” He pulled back, glaring at her tank top like it offended him.

She smirked, though the effect was ruined somewhat by her breathy sighs, “You’ll have to let go of me to get that off.”

He chuckled lowly, “Will I?” He nuzzled against her collarbone before catching her tank top and bra straps in his teeth and slowly dragging them over her shoulder. He repeated the motion down her other arm.

He kissed her throat, just below his fingers; he mouthed down her chest, gently biting her shirt, drawing it down. He flicked his tongue against the valley between her breasts before pushing aside her bra cup with his cheek, pulling her nipple into his warm mouth.

She shuddered, whimpering brokenly; he started a leisurely rhythm and, even through all of their clothes… it had been so long, she just needed a little more. He returned to her mouth, breathing through her, hips speeding up.

Their teeth clinked together; he growled, low in his throat, rolling through her chest. So, so close…

She pulsed against him, warm and floating, secured by his hand on her wrists, his fingers on her throat, his tongue stroking hers. He pulled away from her lips as she came back to herself; he was pressed against her, hard and throbbing, but made no motion to continue. He was watching her, panting; his voice was deep and roughened with desire as he murmured, “You are… transcendent. May I hold you, please?”

He was looking at her with such tenderness she could barely breathe; she had seen firsthand his strength, his power, yet she knew she could break him with nothing but a word. He had her body restrained, but she had his heart. “Do you yield?”

He chuckled breathlessly, releasing her hands; his other hand came up to caress her cheek, “Only to you, love. Only to you.”


End file.
